


there was magic in the world

by miominmio



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 1920s, Adventure, BFFs, Fantastic Beasts, Friendship, Friendship love, Harry Potter Universe, New York, Niffler, Original Character(s), Phoenixes, Prohibition Era, bowtruckle - Freeform, i love them, i love this, jacob looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you, newt looks like a cinnamon roll is an actual cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miominmio/pseuds/miominmio
Summary: Newt appears back in Jacob's life, ready to go on an adventure.





	1. Chapter One

There was magic in the world, of that Jacob Kowalski was absolutely certain. 

His bear claws always came out of the oven golden-brown with the almond flakes perfectly crispy, for instance. 

The diner next door never failed to produce an enchanting peach cobbler when he invited his staff for dinner, moreover.

As icing on the cake, his new accommodations on 55th were elevated enough for him to enjoy evening sun on Sundays, (though the treks up the stairs left him wheezing and the lift of the building was notoriously unreliable).  

More difficult to fathom was the woman with the flaxen curls and mesmerising smile who never failed to buy a pair of iced serpent-buns from him every Monday. Whenever she entered the shop, within moments she would be the recipient of admiring albeit shy glances from every direction. But she had eyes only for him.

So however surprising it was to find a man in a blue coat with light-brown hair (or was it dark blonde?) sitting in the armchair of Jacob’s living room one snowy December Tuesday with a platypus in his arms, he was not _floored_ by the fact.

On second glance, the beak of the platypus was not flat and duck-like and its feet were not webbed, either.

Wearily Jacob sat his briefcase down on the floor.

“Uh, you got the apartment wrong, pal.”

The man smiled coyly, eyes meeting Jacob’s briefly and then looking away. Not, seemingly, out of fear, but of some peculiarity of person.

“I do believe I got it right. It’s nice to see you, Jacob.”

He smiled again, and stroked the back of the not-platypus, which was holding something that looked very much like Jacob’s silverware. 

Something nagged on Jacob’s mind. He half-remembered fragments of past dreams, of terrific beasts and vivid colours. The man, too, seemed familiar in the way that implicated he had seen him before. Perhaps in a crowd.

It still did not excuse him to barge into Jacob’s apartment.

“Have we met before?”

The man looked up again, as fleetingly, but this time with a passing note of sadness. The edge of his mouth jerked downwards.

“We have. A while ago.”

He mustered a half-smile. 

“My name is Newt Scamander and I need your help, Jacob.”

Jacob raised his eyebrows, let them sink until they were scrunched over his eyes, then they were back in their place again. He scratched at his temples, hummed under his breath.

“OK, well, uh, I’ll make some coffee and you can explain everything.”

 

Two coffee cups later and he was none the wiser, though the accompanying Danishes somewhat quenched the stress.

“I helped you catch a bunch of beasts in the city, one of them demolished half of Manhattan, then I was brainwashed for the trouble.”

Newt nodded, keeping a guarding eye over his stick insect, currently relaxing in an empty cup. It had a face and everything.

Jacob picked a dead woodlouse from the corner of the kitchen and extended it to the creature on the pad of his index finger. The magical stick insect smiled and promptly devoured the louse.

“To be honest, that sounds like something that I would do.” After a moment, he added: “So what do you want me to help you with?”

Newt pointed the stick which he called a wand (something which he always had at his side, just as Jacob had a comb in his breast-pocket) at his briefcase, uttered: “Accio _Fantastic Beasts_ ,” and a stapled bundle of typewritten papers came flying out as if carried by invisible hands. For a long moment after, Jacob stared at the briefcase, daring it to chuck something else out.

Newt leafed restlessly through the papers, earmarked a page, then brought forth a fountain pen from his coat which scribbled autonomously. Jacob inwardly wished he had a dozen of those for the bakery’s accounting.

He was about to repeat his question, when Newt stopped, gave Jacob a quick but serious look, then averted his gaze again. Jacob had only known this man for an hour and a half, yet he felt himself familiarized with his mannerisms.

He straightened in his seat.

“Well, in short,” Newt began, retrieving the stick insect from the cup and tucking it into his front pocket,” a dangerous wizard has escaped custody, an Indian phoenix has been smuggled into New Orleans and there is rumoured to be a creature hidden somewhere in Ilvermorny.”

Jacob nodded absent-mindedly, frowning at the same time. “How exactly would _I_ help you with _that_?”

Newt shot him one of his five-second glances, twirled his wand between his fingers without using it, the edge of his mouth twitching first downwards, then upwards.

“Because you’re my friend. You – were my friend.”

An odd feeling settled over Jacob, a sort of incomprehensible déjà vu, both melancholy and warm.

He had friends. From the bakery. Some old fellows from the canning factory. His war buddies. But the sincerity with which Newt announced him his friend was something singular.

The hint of a smile crept onto his face. “But, uh, didn’t you say I’m non-magic or something?”

Newt inclined his head, catching the hint. “American No-Maj. Muggle in British. I suppose, you don’t need magic to do amazing things.”

Jacob glanced over his shoulder, through the open door into his bedroom where his travel trunk was gathering dust beneath the window sill. What would he need to bring?

“What about the bakery? This adv-, I mean, endeavour, would it take a long time?”

Newt gave a shrug of his shoulder, making the green stick pop out of his pocket. “It might do. But, it’s up to you. If you want to come, that is.”

George, the puff pastry prodigy Jacob had employed straight out of the canning factory, he could take over for a while. It would not hurt, the boy needed some experience anyway. Although, he would not see the mysterious Monday woman and she could have moved on by his return.

Unless she were involved with this magic business, as well.

He thought of his dreams of fantastic things, which kept him up at night but kept his heart racing, too many things to fill story books with.

He coughed, stroked his chin, folded his arms over his chest, then smiled with full might.

“When are we going?”

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt + Jacob + steam boat

Newt took him to Central Park and they stood there underneath the bridge in the snow.

It was getting late, dark already, only commuters heading home from work and clusters of kids busy snowball-fighting and running about.

Then, disentangling themselves from a crowd of nine-to-fivers, two women approached. One elegant, shorthaired, the other flaxen and smiling, and Jacob would have recognised her anywhere.

“You shouldn’t be here with that,” the short-haired woman said even as she was smiling at Newt, adding: “Technically.”

Newt tilted his head. “It’s nice to see you, Tina.”

They embraced, and as the embrace endured, it was evident that they had not seen each other in a long while.

Newt closed his eyes briefly, shoulders slumping.

The other woman had in the meantime closed the distance between Jacob and herself, leaning in and placing a hand on his cheek, warm despite the snow.

“Jacob,” was all that she said, yet it sufficed for Jacob to think of rain and a lingering yet implacable feeling on his lips.

“It’s Queenie.” 

In an alternate universe going on right beside Jacob, Newt adapted a sombre tone as he relayed to Tina the intricacies of his mission in the States.

“You’ll have to be careful, Newt. MACUSA won’t offer the same oversight as last time.” A crinkle of worry appeared on Tina’s forehead.

“I know. But this is important. I wouldn’t be asking for help if it wasn’t.”

“Of course we’ll help,” Queenie supplied almost instantaneously,” won’t we, T?”

The worry did not quite leave Tina’s expression as she finally shrugged and smiled. “But we need to keep it low profile, agreed? MACUSA won’t be involved again.”

The unspoken allusion to something of the past left Newt silent for a minute or two.

At last, he nodded. “Jacob and I are heading to New Orleans tonight.”

“There’s a portkey on the crossing of 48th and 2nd -  I can accompany you if you’d like?”

Newt raised his suitcase with an apologetic smile. “That won’t be necessary, I’m afraid. I’m not using a portkey with these. I even limit apparating too far. I am in possession of new sensitive cargo, you see.” He looked to Jacob who was still in a state of reverie. “We’re taking a train to Cincinnati, then a steamboat to New Orleans.”

Tina raised her eyebrows. “That’s a long journey.”

There was a glimmer in Newt’s eyes. “Well, there are things to be taken care of in the meantime.”

In reply, he received a fond smile from Tina. “Still haven’t finished the manuscript, have you?”

“It’s getting there.”

“It’s OK,” Queenie inflicted, looping an arm around Tina’s. “We’ll need some time to prepare for a journey anyhow.”

Tina gave her sister a considering look. “Arrangements to be made at the Congress. Getting in touch with authorities in New Orleans.”

They exchanged goodbyes, content in the knowledge that they would be seeing each other soonly. Tina and Queenie turned and started heading off in the direction from whence they came, when Queenie suddenly ran back and kissed an unwitting Jacob on the cheek.

As he watched her turn away once more, bewildered but golden, Jacob gave Newt a shake of his head and a broad smile.

While walking up the path through Central Park with Newt, he cheerfully whistled the melody to George Olsen’s _Lucky Day._

 

Having arrived in Cincinnati, they were able to board the SS. _Natchez_ in the early evening, Newt immediately disappearing into his suitcase before the door had even shut in their shared cabin.

Before Jacob followed suit – and he had already acquainted (according to Newt _reacquainted_ ) himself with the contents of that case, he popped up on deck to snatch a breeze and visit the restaurant, ordering two sandwiches and two tonic waters for himself and Newt. He waited for his food to arrive and watched the orange sun over the Ohio river, thinking of how topsy-turvy things had become and how he loved every minute of it.

Newt was feeding a ravenous graphorn with the demiguise clinging onto his back when Jacob returned with supper. They ate in silence on the crescent of a hill surrounded by mooncalves presenting their very best puppy eyes.

Jacob could tell Newt was withdrawn, unusually so, although he did not quite understand how he could make such a judgement without previous experience. It was still difficult to believe that he had ever met the man before, after all.

He felt prompted to fill the void with words, but refrained himself from it in the end. After the war, when things had settled down, it had been easier to devote himself to humour and happiness and leave all things serious behind.

The demiguise detached itself from Newt’s back and held out a paw (a hand?) to Jacob. About to have swallowed the last bite, Jacob stopped, sighed, and placed the piece of buttered bread in the clutch of the demiguise’s claws. It was gone before Jacob had blinked.

They spent the rest of the evening cleaning up after the creatures, until it got so late that Jacob made a big show of yawning and stretching his arms that Newt conceded, returned to their cabin and went to sleep.

 

He woke while it was still dark outside, thought it was already morning, but a glance at Newt’s bedside clock told him it was barely past midnight.

Dazed, but tired, he let his head sink back on the pillow.

A movement on the neighbouring bed prevented him from falling asleep, though. He thought at first Newt had turned around in his sleep, as one is wont to do, until he saw his new acquaintance’s (friend’s?) face, barely distinguishable in the feeble light streaming in from the window. Forehead creased in agitation, sweat glistening on his brows. Hands clenched around fistfuls of bedsheet.

With a sinking feeling, Jacob recognised the signs and symptoms of a nightmare. He was about to shuffle over and rouse Newt from sleep, when he heard him whisper, barely audible yet clearly enunciated: “ _Can I come over?_ ”

Almost as if aware he had spoken aloud, Newt sat up abruptly, fully awake. He was breathing hard, but he made an effort to stifle it. The look of incomprehensible hurt in his eyes did not quite go away as he smiled sheepishly at Jacob.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” He nodded his head once. “Bad dream.”

Jacob perched himself on the edge of Newt’s bunk and said nothing. There was a time for words but now was not that time.

He wondered what he was doing, comforting a stranger.

Then again, the guys in the war had been strangers. Until they had saved his life.

Newt let go of the sheet he still was clutching spasmodically and let a hand hover over his face, shielding his eyes from view.

The night stretched on in silence.

When he spoke, it was in a quiet voice, not quite a whisper but not loud enough to not be disregarded, if one were not to listen: “Did your memories of the war ever go away?”

“No,” said Jacob earnestly. “But they faded. And it got better.”

A brilliant idea suddenly came to him, and he jumped up from the bed in excitement. “Hey, come along, will you?”

Hesitant but curious, Newt slipped into his shoes and robed himself. “Where are we going?”

Jacob replied with a smile, leading a confused Newt out of the cabin and down the corridor to the stairs leading up to second deck. As he had expected, the restaurant area was dark and abandoned. He used the army knife he had brought with him to pick the lock of the door to the kitchens, until Newt gently shoved him aside, pointed his wand at the keyhole and uttered: “Alohomora,” under his breath.   

The door swung open.

The kitchen was all smooth, metallic and ceramic surfaces, utensils gleaming dully, unusually spacy for a boat kitchen.

Jacob spread his arms and turned to face Newt.

“You showed me your refuge. This is mine. Now, take a seat and let me work _my_ magic.”

Newt sat down on a countertop and Jacob slapped a couple of dollars onto the washboard beside him which he had brought with him specifically to recompense for the obtainment of the kitchen for an hour.

While the steam boat continued to make its way South, Jacob whisked egg-whites and flipped the bowl upside-down to show Newt, earning a genuine admiring smile from the wizard.

“My Nana didn’t teach me to cook. Ma’ did. But Nana made me love it,” explained Jacob as sugar and vanilla pods went into the bowl. “She was the one who told me to find something I would love and stick to it.”

In another bowl, he mixed heavy cream and condensed milk. Then he deliberately turned his back on Newt and hid what he was doing, until the tray with the treats was safely baking in the cast iron oven.

Newt looked out of the window, gaze distant. “At Hogwarts – that’s the school I went to – we had great banquets. You wouldn’t even be able to see the wood of the tables in the Great Hall, as covered with magically prepared food as they were. At Christmas, it was even better…” His voice trailed off, and his gaze became even more glazed over.

Jacob hurried to distract his friend: “Oh, banquets would have been great at the Front. Especially towards the end, you know. We had canned cheese. Just proves to show how dire it was.”

They laughed, and at once the night seemed a little less dark and the kitchen a little merrier.

Jacob got the finished dessert out of the oven, waited for it to cool down and presented it to Newt.

“This is what I call Magical Meringue.”

Newt picked a piece up and had a taste. His eyes widened. “This is good. Quite good.”

Crunchy on the outside, like a traditional meringue, but with a creamy swirl only partially sweetened to contrast the caries-inducing sugar of the meringue.

Newt thanked him sincerely. There was some sugar stuck to the edge of his mouth.

Jacob shrugged modestly. “As long as you liked it.”

With one swing of his wand, Newt cleaned the kitchen up, saving them at least half an hour of work.

Yawning but content, they retired to their cabin.

Before he fell asleep, and he fell asleep easily now, Jacob thought of Newt’s expression of gratitude and wondered if it had been about the meringues exclusively.

  
In the morning, the boat had covered another distance of river behind, and they breakfasted to the tunes of a passenger’s harmonica. Newt had his briefcase beside him, a world within a world, and Jacob felt immensely privileged to be a part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's face it: the real magic of this has been you guys. The story exploded, and I am very grateful for that. Once I received the positive response, I started typing up the continuation, and I only wish I had been able to update faster. Thank you for your kind words, and your support. Obviously, it's never easy to continue anything, especially when you want to meet and exceed people's expectations. But as promised, this will be continued. 
> 
> Only one question left to ask: do you prefer separate parts as in separate fics or are chapters alright? xxx


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alligators and magical mysteries. Also, cliffhangers!

The rowboat glided effortlessly through the water of the bayou, the autonomous movements of the oars barely creating ripples in the water as it moved. At this time of the year, the wetlands rested in abandonment, leafage dewy with rain and fog and the scattered rays of December sun doing little to penetrate the murky darkness of the water.

Jacob sat weary at the back of the boat, spying out for alligators of which he had been warned in New York by friends who “had been in the area”. But when he leaned over the edge, all he could see was his own distorted reflection looking back up at him.

Newt, in the front, seemed to have read his thoughts without turning around: “Don’t worry, friend. Most alligators are asleep this time of the year. Only the young ones are out and about.”

“Only the young ones...,” Jacob repeated in a tone a notch higher than he had intended. “That’s fine then.” He scuttled closer to the middle of the boat. After some consideration, added: “I thought you were a _magi_ zoologist?”

“I am. However, all creatures fascinate me. I don’t discriminate.”

At that, Pickett the bowtruckle popped out of the pocket of Newt’s coat and folded its stick arms in a huff.

“Calm down, you know I appreciate you. Besides, you receive undifferentiated special treatment anyway.”

Pickett conceded, and retreated into the warmth and safety of the pocket.

Jacob wished he had his own pocket to retreat into: it was not cold per se, not as cold as New York this time of the year, but there was a chill in the air only intensified by the stillness of the half-slumbering swamp. Adding to his discomfort was the mystery of their mission: since getting off the boat at the port, Newt had omitted to relay to Jacob the further details of their journey, and generally kept hush. He let the prospect of meeting Queenie and Tina in the near future comfort him as the boat took them further and deeper into the unknown.

As he sat there, thinking of both nothing in particular and several things at once, a giant shadow appeared in the water to his right. Startled, he blinked, and it was gone.

Barely a few seconds later, it appeared again, sliding under the boat to the other side. It seemed to take shape, solidify: ascending to the surface and gaining legs, tail and snout.

Newt had noticed it too, yet he seemed far less alarmed. As the alligator poked its head above the water, exposing leathery scales the same green-grey shade of the water, he even he leaned forward, and _smiled._

The alligator slowly worked its jaws open, and Jacob, in a panic, grabbed the nearest oar, interrupting its rowing, and held it like a baseball bat, ready to strike.

The alligator made no notice of him. It wiggled its body from side to side, snapped at the air experimentally, then disappeared underwater. Jacob’s lungs were half-way through contraction when it _leaped_ from the water and into the boat, spraying him with swamp essence in the process.

Then things got just a little bit _weirder._ The alligator stood up on its hind legs and suddenly it was not an alligator anymore, but a human, a man swaddled in green-grey-brown robes with a very large green hat perched on his head. The man, judging exclusively by his face, did not seem particularly large himself, and so his clothes dwarfed and drowned him.

“Hullo,” Newt greeted the stranger, not at all perturbed by the transformation.

His reply was a considering “Hmm…” from the man, as if it were the two men in the boat who had done something confusing.

“My name is Newt Scamander, magizoologist,” Newt introduced himself, and judging by the way in which his voice had become more quiet and considering, his confidence had been dampened somewhat by the stranger’s suspicion, who made no sign of acknowledgement of Newt’s introduction, instead turning to the other man.

“Uh, Jacob Kowalski… baker,” Jacob said after a moment of hesitation. 

It did not seem to mean much to the man. If anything, his expression became even more sullen. But, to the relief of both Newt and Jacob, he finally revealed his identity, albeit in a monotone voice: “August, Auror.”

The acidity of his demeanour lifted, then. Jacob had a good look at his face, and relaxed a little: lines of worry were etched in weather-beaten skin, eyes looking guarded but lacking hostility.

He seemed to struggle as he strung a more elaborate sentence together, words stocky and disjointed: “I have been… following a case. Long time. Been an alligator… for a long time.”

Instantaneously, the intrigue of Newt was roused, and he brought forth his notebook to jot some words down on the creamy paper. “I have never really heard of a wizard staying in Animagus-form for an extended time before. I mean it happens, but it’s rare. Sorry, how long do you mean when you say a long time?”

“Last I was human… eight months.”

Something about August’s evident discomfort with his surroundings, noticeable in the tension of his shoulders and the shyness of person that was becoming more and more apparent, brought Jacob back to the memories of shell-shocked soldiers in France. Often-times, when visiting friends of his in the hospital of St Nazaire, he would see one or two grown men without visible injury who struggled to pronounce their own names.

Newt seemed oblivious to those side of things, ever the inquisitive researcher. His understandings were of different matters, yet how he went about gaining and analysing new information awakened a thrill in Jacob, a thrill to learn which he had assumed had died sometime during his last years of school.

“Go,” requested August suddenly, interrupting Newt’s documentation.

Newt looked up, puzzled and a smidgeon disappointed.

“Not safe… here. Hence me.”

“Pardon me for my impertinence – but is it possible to know the nature of your mission here?”

August frowned, but looked more worried than angry. Finally, he sighed. “Illegal matter.”

Newt shot Jacob a meaningful look. So, they were on the track of something. Jacob hoped it was just the phoenix and nothing lethal.

August seemed to notice that Newt was not the type to be impressed with danger and tried to make a plea of reason: “Can’t stop… you. But I’m the only… Auror in the area. You’re on your own.”

With that ominous warning left hanging in the air, their last sentinel of security effortlessly returned to his former shape and leaped back into the water with a splash. Then he disappeared underwater and, with a flick of his tail, was gone.

Jacob felt compelled to say something, talk Newt out of any folly which he was prepared to undertake, but waited for his friend to say something first, instead.

Newt was looking thoughtfully at the spot in which their common acquaintance had vanished, as if mentally interrogating the ripples of water to answer his questions.

Unsurprisingly, they did not.

“The phoenix must be here somewhere,” he finally said, talking more to himself than with Jacob,” in a settlement, possibly? My informant in London said it had been smuggled into the very heart of New Orleans, then bought and taken to one of the bayous. And if August says there has been illegal activity here – this must be it?”

He gave Jacob the look of a student seeking confirmation from his professor, in which case he was obviously barking up the wrong tree.

“He said it was dangerous,” Jacob supplied carefully,” and I mean, he was an _alligator._ ”

“You’re right,” replied Newt, and Jacob was taken aback. He had not imagined that it would be so easy to dissuade Newt from pursuing a potential threat.

It was not.

“You should go back to the city.”

Before he could stop them, Jacob’s words fell out of his mouth in a tumble: “Nuh-uh, I’m sticking with you.” Even as he said it, he knew it to be true, though he was not entirely sure why so.

A spectre of emotion flitted across the face of Newt in rapid succession: surprise, delight and finally worry, his forehead creasing as he looked back down in his journal and leafed through the pages.

“Whoever bought the phoenix must have had the means to do so. We are looking at a mansion, then, quite likely. But if they have concealed it by means of a Fidelius charm or something even more powerful, we have little hope of finding it.” He threw the journal aside in frustration. “On top of that, if it is Unplottable we will never come across it.”

Jacob felt like helping, even if it meant that he was encouraging Newt to risk his life: “Not that I have any idea what you are talking about, but uh, can’t one of your creatures find this place by sniffing it out? Like – like a bloodhound.” Even as he was saying it, he knew how stupid it sounded.

But Newt shot up from the bench, beaming: “Jacob, you sell yourself short – you’re brilliant! I can’t breach a Fidelius charm, but my creatures can.”

The oars took up rowing at once, setting them on the course of an unknown destiny. Newt disappeared briefly into his suitcase, returning at first glance seemingly empty-handed. Then Newt showed Jacob what was securely hidden in his hand: the smallest bird that Jacob had ever seen, golden of feather and with red eyes gleaming above a sharp beak. Its wings were moving quickly enough to blur, though the creature was going nowhere, courtesy of Newt’s fingers.

“It’s a Golden Snidget,” Newt explained, gently holding the bird in place. “They used to use them in Quidditch. Rather cruel, if you ask me. Regardless, her name is Abbie.”

Jacob looked down at the fragile thing and his heart swelled, just a bit.

“I’ll follow your lead,” Newt whispered to Abbie, and opened his hand.

The Snidget shot up into the air so fast that in the space of a few seconds, she was a barely indistinguishable spot of gold against the grey backdrop of the sky.

“Magic draws magical creatures in,” Newt told Jacob as the rowing increased in speed to keep up with the bird. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Without a doubt, Jacob agreed. A little bit of weariness remained inside of him, however.

Abbie suddenly made a sharp turn right, and the two companions had to abandon the boat in favour of a walkway which led into thick, cumbersome vegetation.

Jacob soon wished they had stayed on the boat even in the alligator-infested waters – or that he had taken up those physical health classes a friend of his had recommended to him back home.

Oh, well.

Sweaty and slightly breathless, they came to a halt in an area where the trees began to clear up, revealing behind them a large expanse of empty field, tall grass bending and straightening in the wind.

Abbie flew past the last trees, and stopped, hovering in mid-air.

Without any real reason, Jacob’s pulse went haywire.

Oblivious, Newt raised his wand in the intentions of casting a revealing charm.

He never had a chance to – a woman suddenly stood before them, holding in one hand a wand, in the other Abbie, wings fluttering uselessly between bony fingers. Behind her on the field a mansion was sprawling over several acres, with an accompanying orchard and greenhouse. 

She raised the hand clutching Abbie, and she was not smiling.

“I caught your Snitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I still don't know how to properly name chapters. 
> 
> But thank you so much for your kind words and the support that keeps coming in for this fic. I have never been as excited about writing a piece of literature before, but it is all due to you!
> 
> Just so you know when there is no update: it means that an update is in progress. As long as there is life in this story, there will be words written. 
> 
> Keep the good stuff coming folks xxx


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phoenixes and fallacies. some violence.

“Please don’t hurt her!” was the first thing to rush out of Newt’s mouth, his hand making an aborted movement toward the captured bird, his eyes focusing on the little he could see of her.

The woman tightened her fingers the tiniest of fractions, not enough to hurt Abbie, but enough to make a point.

Newt blanched, letting his hand drop in surrender, and Jacob bristled.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt it,” the woman said in a clipped tone, coaly eyes gleaming with Rasputin-esque delirium. “If you behave.”

“What do you want?” asked Newt in an oddly strangled voice.

“I should really be asking you that, considering you’re the one trespassing. Trespassing in the company of a No-Maj no less.”

Newt chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek, his face draining of the last bit of colour.

“There’s been a misunderstanding…”

“Misunderstanding?” the woman mocked. “You should be careful. Misunderstandings have gotten people killed before.”

Even as the thinly veiled threat made Newt lose additional colour, he shrugged. “There’s been no harm done: we’ll be on our way.”

“You won’t.”

The woman trained her wand not on Newt, but on Jacob, who felt like he was staring down the barrel of a gun. At the very least the sensation was nothing new. When Newt gave him most anxious of looks, Jacob replied with a small smile, as if to comfort his friend. _It’s all good._

“Lower your wand and put your suitcase on the ground,” the woman instructed, her voice deceptively calm. Which, all things considered, was not entirely a bad thing. In Jacob’s experience, fear and fury tended to bring about recklessness.

Reluctantly, Newt dropped both wand and suitcase, looking pained. Jacob felt a pang of guilt: no doubt Newt was taking extra precaution to comply for his sake, and for the first time, Jacob felt that being non-magical was a disadvantage.

The woman smiled suddenly, baring teeth, looking like a cat with a mouse. “You’re Newt Scamander! The wizard who caught Grindelwald.”

Newt was silent, simply clenching his jaw. For the woman, however, his silence was answer enough.

She sneered: “Seems like you’re in league with the No-Majes. You made a mistake in coming here, then: this is no place for No-Maj sympathizers.”

“What do you want?” Newt repeated tiredly, his focus continually shifting between the captured Abbie and the wand directed at his friend’s heart.

The smile disappeared from the woman’s face: suddenly she was dead serious. “Tell me, no lies this time, why you’ve come here.”

Newt looked like he would refuse, for a moment. Then, shoulders slumping, he offered: “I have a menagerie of magical creatures in my suitcase. You have a phoenix. I thought I would offer it a new home.”

Jacob gaped at him. Even with his life at stake, he had not thought that Newt would _actually_ reveal the truth. But Newt did not return his questioning glances, his green eyes fixed firmly on the woman’s near-black.

“How do you know about that?” she asked, voice low, dangerous. She had gone completely still, wand-hand unwavering.

“Rather than be concerned about how I found out, you should be worried about who else knows,” Newt countered icily.

The woman looked so very close to uttering a curse that Jacob began to count down the last seconds of his life.

Then she smiled, quickly, humourlessly, and made a gesture at the suitcase. “Hand that over, will you?”

Newt blinked, and nudged the suitcase over to the woman with his shoe.

In an unprecedented move, she released Abbie from her grip: the Snidget flew straight back to Newt, who squeezed his eyes shut in relief as she was once again safe in the palm of his hand.

The terrorized bird chirped agonizingly.

“Sssh,” Newt comforted her, stroking her over the golden feathers with his index finger, and she quietened.

The danger was far from over, though. Wand still pointed at Jacob’s chest, the woman knelt before the suitcase, and, winking at Newt, she undid the clasps.

Like a great, blue-green spring released from tension, an occamy uncoiled and enlarged in mid-air, throwing the woman onto her back in its ascension.

Newt hastily grasped his wand from the ground, and blurted out in quick succession: “Expelliarmus, Stupefy.”

The woman remained down, unmoving. Newt stuffed her wand in his coat pocket.

They looked at each other, Jacob and Newt, even as the occamy made loops in the sky, and laughed off the nervous tension. Jacob could not quite get his heart to calm, and Newt’s hands were shaking as he dug through the open suitcase to retrieve a teapot with a mismatched lid.

“Can you find an insect, please?” Newt asked, and looking around, Jacob found a caterpillar weighing down a blade of grass.

As Newt held up the wriggling little thing, and subsequently dropped it in the teapot, the occamy descended in one straight line and shrunk before it nestled inside the pot, consuming its dinner in one fell swoop.

Newt disappeared briefly into his suitcase with the occamy, and returned all business-like.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he said to Jacob as he cast an invisibility charm on the suitcase and propped it up against the trunk of the oldest-looking tree in the vicinity. “Before she wakes up, that is. We better use our time wisely.”

“You still want to go inside the mansion?” Jacob asked uncertainly.

Newt paused, looking tired but sympathetic: “I understand that under these circumstances it might not be the wisest thing to do. But I need to, Jacob. There’s no way of going around it.”

Jacob nodded, more to himself than at Newt. “Let’s go.”

They waded through the sea of grass with a sky churning like an ocean above them. Jacob had no idea if the woman was the mansion’s sole inhabitant, or not, but they played it safe, and hid themselves from view as best they could.

Upon reaching the orchard with its fruitless trees, they glimpsed the veranda of the house, the door to the inside ajar. Jacob felt like a little boy again, stealing apples from his grandparents’ neighbours with his best friend, as they sneaked over.

Fortunately, the anteroom into which they entered was empty. Someone, maybe the woman, had been there not too long ago, though: a cup of coffee of which the steam was still rising sat next to book which had been flipped on its front. “To the brethren of the magical revolution,” the cover read.

“We better go look in the attic,” Newt said, looking at the ceiling,” in a mansion like this, it would be the best place to hide a phoenix. Ample light, but out of ways. Come on.”

They strode quickly but quietly through a carpeted corridor and up two sets of stairs. Most of the second floor of the house was dedicated to sleeping quarters, and so was empty at this time of the day. Newt spotted a hatch above one of the master bedrooms and pulled down the attic stairs.

Jacob cringed at the creaking wood as they climbed, and passionately hoped that they were right in the assumption that only the woman lived in this house.

The attic was dusty and cold, but a beautiful half-moon shaped window let daylight in, illuminating bare wooden planks and broken tiles.

Just by the window stood a cage, and in the cage sat the singularly most mesmerizing creature Jacob had ever seen. It was small, the size of a cantaloupe, feathered ruby-red and gold, and in Jacob’s view looked like the hatchling-version of what it probably was supposed to be. A considerable pile of ash covered the bottom of the cage below it.

“Oh, it’s only a baby,” cooed Newt, his eyes bright and excited. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders, and, unlocking the cage with a spell, held his coat-nest up for the phoenix to climb into.

The phoenix backed away from Newt at first, wary, but ultimately its curiosity got the better of it. It pecked experimentally at Newt’s hand, yawned – and nearly singed Newt’s shirt-sleeve as a flame escaped its insides – then finally nestled in Newt’s coat and promptly fell asleep.

Newt looked up at Jacob and his mouth was a slash of frustration. “They separated him from his mother, probably shortly after birth. He’s still very trusting. And should be twice the size he is now.”

Jacob looked over his shoulder at the open hatch. “Uh, Newt, we should probably get outta here.”   

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Newt held the phoenix in his coat to his chest like a human baby, and descended from the attic, trying to hurry and be careful at the same time.

They folded the stairs back up and continued their way through the house.

As they returned to the anteroom, something hit the back of Jacob with such force that he was sent flying, tipping the table with the coffee cup and the book in the process. Dazed, he tried to get back up in a pool of shards and coffee. From behind him, he heard Newt’s voice, frantic: “Stop! Please, stop! Here, just don’t – don’t hurt him.”

Within Jacob’s field of vision, Newt’s wand clattered to the floor and was swiftly picked up by a pale, bony hand. Jacob followed the hand to the face he had hoped he would never see again.

The woman’s tranquil demeanour was as good as gone: her hair was a mess and her clothes rumpled, and, perhaps even more worryingly, behind her stood half a dozen witches and wizards. One of them, an older man in a hat with the same aristocratic features as the woman, had his wand poking into the soft flesh of Newt’s neck and held a fistful of Newt’s shirt.  

“Charmaine,” said the man to the wild-eyed woman,” kill the No-Maj.”

“No! No, don’t – don’t! Please!” Eyes wide and panicked, Newt tried to break free of the man’s hold, which inadvertently burrowed the wand further into his neck.

Jacob felt his breath freeze in his lungs.

But Charmaine, who had taken her wand back from Newt, tapped it thoughtfully against her chin instead. “Maybe we should wait, Uncle. I’m sure he could be useful to us alive.”

“I’ll leave that to your discretion, then,” said the uncle, and nodded at another witch with short blonde hair. “Clementine, get the phoenix.”

Newt had laid the coat-bundle with the firebird in it carefully on the floor, away from the shards, halfway between himself and Jacob. The witch bent down to pick it up but snatched her hand back quickly when she was met with flames, small ones but effective all the same.

“Please, leave it alone,” Newt pleaded, trying again, in vain, to pull himself free,” they’re not meant to be in captivity. I was… I was trying to free it.”

Charmaine stepped very close to him, and hissed in his face: “You said it yourself that you wanted to give it a new home. Your suitcase speaks volumes.” After a bout of thoughtful silence, added: “Speaking of which, where is it?”

Newt looked anguished, but shook his head, his mouth set.

Charmaine sighed. “Honey, you’re not going anywhere. We’ll get something out of you sooner or later. In the meantime, we have excellent accommodations in the basement where you can have a think about how much you value your life.”

While the conversation was going on, Jacob had turned his attention to the phoenix, which was heroically fighting off the attempts of the woman to retrieve it. He had an idea, a suicidal idea, of how he could help it and bring some point to their mission, even if they were to die in this place.

He rolled over onto his knees, putting his body in-between the witch and the phoenix, and, scooping the bird up in his hands, hoping for the best, practically threw it out of the open veranda door.

It did not fly, but it tried to, and its tries were what lessened the impact when it crashed to the ground. Yet, miraculously, it rose to try and fly again. Jacob kept guard and blocked the wizards from trying to recapture the phoenix, for once satisfied with his wide physique. Like a sentinel, he watched as the bird reached the orchard and disappeared amidst the trees.

The second curse that hit him in the back did not come as a surprise, but even as he writhed in pain, dimly cognizant of Newt’s shouts of protest, he thought of the liberation of the phoenix, of what it meant to Newt, and did not regret a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, several things:
> 
> A) Thank you so much as usual for the support. First thing in the morning, I check my emails (I know, sad) and it brightens my day to see the response!
> 
> B) This story is quite plot-driven, and while character development is a part of that, I wonder if that is an OK format? This is playing out like I could imagine seeing it in a movie, but I don't know if that's good or bad. 
> 
> C) I know the update was overdue in its coming. University stuff and re-writing of the initial text got in the way. Next time I'm going to write on my profile if it's going to be delayed: so if it's 3+ days since the last update, just go on to my profile and I'll have written the explanation. 
> 
> xxx


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some much needed emotional scenes. Extra long chapter, as well.

Contrary to Charmaine’s statement of the opposite, the cellar accommodations, were not, in fact, excellent. The dust of the place was so cloyingly thick that Jacob felt it coat the lining of his lungs and Newt ran his hands through his hair to brush it out. In the limited light falling through the gaps of the floorboards in the ceiling, Jacob could barely make him out, but still he saw how badly shaken his friend seemed.

Nevertheless, Newt was the first to ask whether the other was alright.

“Yeah, I’m good – I’m alive,” Jacob said with nonchalance he did not feel,” I got a few scrapes, but other than that…”

Newt sat down on the grimy steps of the cellar stairs. “Thank you, Jacob,” he said, his voice profoundly reverent,” for letting the phoenix out. For helping me. I owe you so much.”

Jacob inclined his head in a gesture of humility. “It was nothing.”

“It was not ‘nothing’,” Newt insisted. “You risked your life.” Jacob heard Newt make a soft noise like a sigh. “I should’ve listened to you. About going into the mansion. I was so – so _determined_ that I couldn’t see reason. And it almost got us killed.”

Jacob kicked at the clouds of dust by his feet. “But it didn’t though.”

For a minute Newt sat still and silent, then suddenly jumped up and began to pace restlessly in the limited available space. “We need to get out of here, Jacob. We need to get out of here now, or – or they’ll…” His voice faltered, energy seeping out of him as quickly as it appeared. “They’ll kill you.”

Jacob could barely believe that only a couple of weeks ago he had been safe and sound, baking golden buns in his golden bakery. Now he was captive in a small basement cell, with murderous wizards plotting above him. “I’m sure it’s not going to come to that.”

Newt threw a nervous look his way. “These are regressive, conservative wizards, who no doubt support Grindelwald and his cronies. You met August: even the Congress don’t meddle in their business. They could get away with anything.”

Jacob struggled to look past their glum prospects. “Is there anything that we can do?”

Newt looked up at the floorboards again, the dancing dust in the light. “I can’t seem to apparate, and without my wand, there is little I can do in terms of a getaway. My wandless magic is appallingly lacking…”

“OK, so that’s we can’t do. What about what we _can_ do?”

In reply to that, Newt was silent.

Exasperated, Jacob looked around in the dust for potential weapons. The dust, however, was all there was. He supposed he could use spit and form dust balls and throw at the wizards when they returned, but that would be akin to poking bulls with a stick.

“There is one thing that we can do,” Newt said, finally, with some hesitation. He reached into his pocket and brought Pickett out, who was at least a one shade paler green than before. “Fellow,” he spoke softly,” our fate lies in your hands now.” He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, his mouth twitching downwards. “I don’t want to ask this of you, if I’m honest.”

Pickett leaned in and placed a stick-hand on Newt’s freckled nose. _It’s alright._ Newt opened his eyes and looked at his bowtruckle friend, eyes rimmed red. “Thank you, I will never forget this favour… Please, make sure the suitcase is where it is, and then find a way of alerting Tina and Queenie. More importantly, be safe. I wish you the best of luck.” He extended his hand with the creature on it to the ceiling and with one last look back at Newt, the bowtruckle disappeared through a crack between two floorboards.

Newt wiped the back of his hand over his eyes and the gesture was so familiar to Jacob that he, at last, was convinced that his friend had been right all along about the wiped memories.

“All we can do is wait now,” Newt said, a little more forlornly, “it’s a bet that hopefully pays off, but it’s still a bet. And even if help will come, it will take a while to get here- “

“- and in the meantime, these people can make mince out of us. Yeah, I know,” Jacob finished off. He was presently reminded of the weight over his heart, that which had troubled him ever since their encounter with Charmaine. “Uh, Newt. Listen, if push comes to shove, don’t feel like – uh – you must hold back. You know, because of me.” 

In all of his misery, Newt looked at once confused.

Jacob sought to clarify his intentions: “Basically, don’t let them hurt you or reveal the location of the suitcase because of what they might or actually do to me.”

Newt seemed to visibly shrink by Jacob’s implications, his brows knitting in deep concern and fingers clenching. “Jacob, you can’t ask that of me. _Please._ ”

“I can take it,” Jacob said soberly, glad that the limited light did not reveal much of his pallor,” I’ve been in the war. I’m experienced with these kinds of situations.”

In truth, it was only a half-lie. His injuries had been of a nature attained from fighting, but he had known a number of POWs and heard their personal accounts of their tribulations. They had been like all other men, joking as jovially and after physical recovery outwardly looking by all means healthy, but at the same time there were shadows in their eyes, casting empty stares into space when they thought no one was watching.

Newt opened his mouth to protest, and Jacob had to, rather cruelly shut him down: “Newt, I’m just a baker. You’re saving and taking care of hundreds of magical creatures. If we are to be honest, you are important than I am.”

The hurt in Newt’s eyes saw no end. Jacob could not have upset him more than if he had said that Newt was the unimportant one, but for once his fierce sense of protectiveness overrode any emotional commitment that he had to his friend. And yet, he found that he could barely look Newt in the eyes.

The magizoologist sank down in the dust some distance from Jacob. He looked at his hands, grubby from the dirt of their whereabouts, calloused from years of handling rough and scaly creatures. In his characteristic blue coat, and his mop of hair concealing a desolate expression, he looked younger than his thirty years. Jacob suspected there was more boy than there was man to Newt – which was not very fair a judgment, considering that he himself had never really left the age of adolescence. Then again, Newt seemed world-wearier than any other person Jacob had ever met: he had travelled far and seen quite a bit of which most people did not see, and oftentimes those kinds of experiences were not always positive. And so, Jacob felt sympathy for his friend, and quite a bit of reverence.

“I’m sorry,” Newt said quietly, voice hoarse and serious,” but I can’t turn off within me whatever makes me want to protect you. It doesn’t work like that.”

 _But I want to protect you, too,_ thought Jacob, desperate. “Come on, Newt, I don’t have magic like you do. I want to help in what little way I can, even if it’s just taking the brunt of their anger!”

“You can be helpless and hold immense strength,” Newt murmured,” you can have magic and feel worthless.”

Jacob knew he was crossing some lines with his question, but if his suspicions were true, and they were spending their last moments on earth in this wretched basement cell, he had to know. “Do you,” he asked, almost in a hush,” feel worthless?”

The ensuing silence was intensified by Jacob ceasing to breathe in anticipation of the answer.

Newt pulled a loose thread off his coat. In the glimpses of his face between strands of red-brown hair, his expression was impassive. His reply was more an exhale than a word:

“Yes.”

Jacob was gripped by a terrible, overwhelming sadness and washed away by its tides. For a minute, he could barely swallow past the lump in his throat. Then the sorrow gave way to fury: without a doubt Newt Scamander was one of the most gentle and kindest souls that Jacob had ever met. He was peculiar but bright, eccentric but caring. And if he had any other impression of himself, in particular that he was “worthless”, it was the fault of those who had sought to diminish him. To Jacob, the biggest tragedy was that the bastards had seemingly succeeded. So, with fire in his lungs, he proclaimed: “Newt, listen to me, and listen carefully. Damn those who convinced you to believe this stupidity, damn them to hell. Whoever made you believe that you are worthless, you need to know how wrong they are, and that _I_ know the truth, and so do Tina and Queenie. And the truth is that you are one of the best people which I have had the fortune of meeting. And that’s the only truth.”

Even with his cheeks wet, he smiled at Newt, reflecting the expression of the other.

The moment was broken with the creak of the basement door opening. Both men stood abruptly, barely having time to wipe their tears away as Charmaine strode down the stairs like a queen, her uncle following closely behind.

The witch looked from Newt and Jacob, awareness and smug amusement spreading over her face. She smirked: “Had yourselves a heartfelt tête-à-tête, have you?”

Jacob was not in any mood for the jibe. “Well, at least we have hearts, so you know, there’s that.”

Charmaine’s eyebrows shot up. She could not quite conceal her indignation, her smirk falling apart at the seams. None too surprisingly, she raised her wand in warning. “Watch your mouth, dirty No-Maj! Do you how many of your kind that I have killed?”

Aggravated, but unimpressed, Jacob shrugged. “Whatever number you pull up, it won’t beat mine.”

Charmaine swept her wand-hand through the air and Jacob felt his face sting as if from an invisible slap. Some blood mingled with the saltwater of his tears. He held up a hand to caress his cheek, but made no show of the hit hurting more than an ordinary slap.

“This certainly brings backs memories.”

He truly did not know where this uncharacteristic arrogant behaviour was coming from, but as long as he was deflecting attention from Newt, he could not care less.

This time it was the uncle who vented his frustration at Jacob’s insolence, the breath being knocked out of his lungs as he was hurled against the wall by a magical force. As he sat there in the dust, struggling to breathe again, Newt leaped in-between, and Jacob did not have the oxygen to object.

Newt held his hands up, looking like he was handling a particularly dangerous and aggressive beast. “Stop it! Please!”

Charmaine directed her wand at him instead, advancing on him until he was backed up against the wall. Out of reach of defence.

“Then tell me,” she said smoothly,” where the suitcase is?”

Newt glanced to Jacob, and the wizard seemed to attempt to draw strength from Jacob’s earlier words of encouragement. He bit his bottom lip, shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Do you think that someone is going to come for you?” Charmaine hissed, and Jacob assumed that they had not discovered Pickett, then. He felt an inkling of hope even as he was feeling the aftermath of the uncle’s curse. “Because they’re not,” the witch continued, clutching the collar of Newt’s coat in one hand, drawing him closer to her,” and you’re going to die here. If you don’t tell me where the damn suitcase is.” She shook Newt like a hawk would a lemming. “But first you’re going to watch that filth over there you call a friend die.”

Newt struggled against her grip, and as he had amassed substantial muscle mass over the years, almost succeeded in throwing her off. As the uncle moved in to help, Jacob saw his opportunity. It was futile, perhaps, and would inevitably result in more pain, but Jacob felt like Newt needed to have someone defend him for once in his life.

Agility and strength returning to him as his body remembered his soldier days, he got up from the dust and with some momentum from a short leap, threw the whole weight of his body against the uncle, tackling him to the ground. He did not stop there, though: before Charmaine had turned around and recovered from her shock, Jacob was already on her, pinning her to the ground. Her wand fell from her grasp, as useless as a stick in the woods, and Newt, reacting quickly, picked it up. In no time, whatsoever, both the witch and wizard were tied up and unconscious.

Hands on his knees, Jacob panted from the exertion, and again reminded himself to pick up some sport or other if and when he returned to New York.

Newt gave him the same look of admiration that Jacob had seen once or twice before, usually when Jacob had said something funny. But the admiration was tinged with respect, as well, and Jacob felt pride swell in his heart.

The next moment, Newt had his hands wrapped around him in a hug, his head braced on Jacob’s shoulder. There was some stiffness to the gesture: Jacob could tell Newt was not well acquainted with these kinds of gestures of affection, and it made him appreciate the embrace all the more.

As they parted, Newt uttered the words which Jacob had been wishing to hear ever since they had been taken captive, nodding at the stairs leading up to the open door:

“Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support! I am over the moon with the response I have received for this story: it brings a smile to my face every time I see it. 
> 
> By all means, keep it coming ;)
> 
> Also, running the risk of sounding like an advertisement, I am also currently accepting any requests or prompts (even outside of FBAWTF), so if you want me to write you something, inbox me!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Jacob go looking for the escaped phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, my dear readers. It is truly not my wish to leave this story incomplete. I won't break that promise. It might take a bit longer than I would want it to, so I do apologise for that but I hope that you enjoy the sparse updates regardless.  
> Thank you for your comments, follows and so on! I wouldn't have continued if it weren't for you!

That night, as they escaped the oppressing atmosphere of the mansion and set off into the woods, Newt picking his suitcase up where he had left it and clutching it tightly to his chest, Jacob could have slept for days if someone had offered him a bed. He felt battered and weary, and an egg-shaped bruise was forming on his forehead.

But Newt, lighting their way with his wand, looked determined to put as much distance between them and Charmaine as possible, and Jacob had to concede that it was a terrific idea. Regardless, he wished that Newt would whip something up to ease their journey: another autonomous boat, or a flying mat for a change.

He would not have minded some food now, either. Now that the adrenaline had run its course, he was left empty-stomached and jittery, acutely aware that the last meal they had partaken in was breakfast some twelve hours ago. In the field, he had gone even longer without, but in the field, they all had been running on something more effective and long-lasting than adrenaline: fear.

Besides, he was embarrassed at the prospect of bringing it up with Newt, who was quite obviously beset with the determination of finding the phoenix and subsequently getting away. Though it was Jacob that had been at the receiving end of most of Charmaine’s vitriol, he felt sorry for Newt. He suspected that the tenacity and wiry strength of Newt’s body did not match the sensibility and fragility of his mind, especially to such viciousness of the like which they had seen in Charmaine.

Not for the first time, he felt intimate with Newt and his mannerisms: it spoke volumes that he had been subject to a memory alteration spell and yet had barely forgotten the most important aspect of all: their friendship. “Newt, we’ll find the phoenix. Don’t worry!” he said now in encouragement, and hid all his weariness behind a smile.

Newt hesitated, but finally some tension melted off his shoulders, and he smiled back, albeit slightly. “Thank you, Jacob.”

“Ah, it’s just what a guy does.” Jacob was speaking more for himself now, keen on distracting himself from the ache in his stomach and the oncoming headache. He tried some searching himself, but his diligence waned in the face of exhaustion. He trusted Newt to find the phoenix: after all, they were looking for a fleck of red in a landscape awash with greys, the settling darkness obliterating all other colours.

He studied Newt’s face again, and discovered his wavering gaze: it would seem that Newt had been affected by the same post-anxiety depression, only in the case of Newt, it was not hunger from which he suffered, but anxiety. He would have consoled Newt by means of another friendly word or touch, but he knew that the best consolation would be the discovery of the fugitive phoenix.

The night-time bayou clicked and creaked as they made their way along the walkway, strange callings disguising the rumbling of Jacob’s stomach. The hand with which Newt was holding his luminous wand dropped suddenly – the shadows leaped at them – but as the tip of the wand continued to glow, Jacob saw the tension return to Newt’s shoulders.

“Someone’s here!”

Jacob’s heart was seized by fear. He thought of Charmaine and the nasty cellar, and desperately did not want a repeat of earlier events.

Newt raised his wand again, this time holding it ready to strike with.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, two figures appeared in the shadows and Jacob’s heart nearly leapt out of his throat until he saw that it was Tina and Queenie.

“Oh God,” he gasped and clutched at his heart, a breathy laugh escaping his lips,” Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you scared me.”

Newt, too, looked so relieved that he looked like he would collapse. “Tina. Queenie.”

Queenie, who had been smiling, looked between the two men, and her smile abruptly dropped. She held a hand to her lips. “Oh no, your poor things. Those brutes!”

Suddenly, her arms were twined around Jacob, clutching his body close to hers, and her head rested in the dip of his neck. “Honey, I’m so sorry about what happened.”

Jacob’s woes melted away with her embrace, and as did his heart.

Tina cast an alarmed look at Newt. “What happened?”

Newt sat down on top of his suitcase. “We were caught. By an unfriendly witch and her family.”

“Caught? What do you mean?” Tina cast a bewildered look at everyone including Queenie, who seemed to know the intricacies of Newt and Jacob’s tribulations already.

“We were searching for the phoenix and we found it,” said Newt, and lit up at the reminder of their accomplishment. A little more darkly, he added: “A witch named Charmaine St. Martin tried to put a stop to the liberation of the hatchling. It’s fine, though. We got away.”

The crinkle of worry in Tina’s frowning forehead did not disappear. “St. Martin… I spoke to the New Orleans Auror Department on our way over. They warned me of a family with that name. Told me that they were hostile to No-Majes and that it was suspected that they were affiliated with Grindelwald. They even have an auror keeping an eye on them as a long-term post.”

Newt nodded. “August. Jacob and I met him not far from here.”

At the mention of Jacob, Tina looked over to see Queenie fussing over the baker, applying a magical ointment to his rather significant bruise. The edge of her mouth jerked downward. “You’re fine, you say?”

Newt tried to smile apologetically, but his eyes were sad. “What I meant was that we didn’t sustain any permanent injuries.”

Tina braced a hand on his shoulder, painfully aware of his aversion to touch. “Are you _fine,_ Newt?”

“Physically, yes,” Newt retorted, and did not say more.

Tina stared at Newt for some time after, until she finally looked up and around at their surroundings. The darkness was now complete and even the peculiar noises of the night had stilled somewhat. “We should get going.”

“No!” Newt exclaimed. Everyone stared. He hurried to explain: “We need to find the phoenix hatchling first. It might not survive the night.”

“Newt, it’s probably not a good idea,” Tina began, but hesitated. She knew how important this was to Newt: after all, he had once again crossed the Atlantic to help magical creatures. It would be unjust to deny him the possibility of doing so.

“What if we search for another hour, and if our search is fruitless we’ll come back at the crack of dawn to try again?” she suggested, not overly keen on staying in the bayou even for another hour, with the threat of the St. Martins still prevalent, but not wanting to disappoint Newt either.

Newt nodded with renewed energy. “Thank you, Tina. This means a lot.”

Newt and Tina lit their wands and led the way while Queenie and Jacob trailed behind, Jacob tapping into his last reserves of energy to keep himself on his feet. Now that Tina and Queenie had joined them, he felt a little more reassured: three wands were better than one, and Tina was an Auror besides. Jacob was arguably the most useless of the company, but even in his fatigued state he could throw a decent punch, and it was after all his ability of throwing a decent punch that had allowed him and Newt to escape Charmaine.

As they walked, Jacob cast a sideways look at Queenie. The only illumination being the cold, white light of her wand, she looked pale and apprehensive, even as she noticed his stare and smiled. He had been reintroduced to the wizarding world in quite a hurry, and so understood little of it yet, but the contrasts of its members were striking: on the one hand, there were the likes of Charmaine, whose hatred reminded him so much of the aggression of his contemporaries, on the other there was Tina and Queenie. Queenie in particular was so comprehensively tolerant and optimistic that he considered her a rare member of the human species overall. Her openness was infectious: despite what Charmaine had done and aimed to do, Jacob did not think any less of witches and wizards and his curiosity of all things magical had not waned.

He was suddenly brought out of his musings when he heard Newt shout up ahead. The wizard was kneeling on the walkway and leaning over the edge, one hand extended.

Jacob came closer to see. There was an alligator in the water, jaw stretched open with all of its terrifyingly sharp teeth bared and gleaming in the wand-light. Jacob could barely suppress the instinct to turn and flee, but Newt’s calm countenance signified that there was no danger at hand. There was something resting on the soft, pink flesh of its mouth: a ball of red feathers which Newt gently scooped up.

“Thank you, August,” Newt murmured warmly, and Jacob understood. The shapeshifting auror had kept the phoenix safe, despite being in his alligator form.

“I’m forever in your debt.”

The auror did not reply – obviously – but his jaw snapped shut and he slowly sank beneath the surface until he disappeared from view altogether. Jacob wondered if it was the last he had seen of August.

Newt held the bundle of feathers close to his chest, making soft noises, as he opened his suitcase with one hand and climbed inside. He was soon back again, looking tired but satisfied.

“Now we can go,” he said to Tina, who looked like those four words had just made her day.

“We’ll apparate back into the city centre. I know of a good place to stay at,” Tina told them.

They clutched each other’s hands and Tina’s magic whisked them away with a pop.

Jacob’s legs wobbled as he found himself standing on solid ground in the stead of rotting boards. They had apparated into a shadowy alleyway, the main street with all of its lights and life just outside. Despite the late hour, the city was full of music and laughter and the smell of food. Jacob’s stomach once again made itself heard.

Under Tina’s direction, they made their way to a quaint-looking hotel just off the main street. Its restaurant was still open, and they agreed amongst themselves that food would not be amiss before bed. It seemed that the hotel was under the ownership of wizards as well, as their food made its own way to their table, floating in mid-air until it was grabbed and lowered to the table.

It was a pleasant end to a trying day, and after generous amounts of fire-whiskey, Jacob was more than ready to sleep for the next few centuries. He staggered up the stairs to the room he was to share with Newt and fell heavily into the embrace of the magically soft eiderdown duvet and silk sheets of the bed. Newt followed suit, but as Jacob looked over with heavy lids, he saw that Newt’s eyes were wide open and directed at the cracked ceiling.

“Newt?” he asked, his voice slurred from sleepiness. “Newt? … should sleep.”

Newt jerked his head, but did not utter a word. Jacob saw that his hands were clenched. He sighed, albeit quietly: it would seem that he would not be allowed to sleep just yet.

“Newt, everything’s fine. We escaped Charmaine. We found the phoenix. You’ve earned yourself some rest.”

When he did speak, Newt’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Jacob, he’s out there. Tina said that the St. Martins were suspected to be affiliated with him.”

Jacob’s mind was running sluggishly slow. “Who’s out there, Newt? Affiliated with whom?”

Newt did not seem to have heard. “In the time in which I was away, he escaped custody and wreaked havoc in Europe. The things he did… Jacob, I think he’s back. He’s back here.” After a long pause, he added: “Grindelwald.”

For some reason Jacob knew not of, he shivered at the mention of the name. At this point though, exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm him. He whispered a goodnight to Newt and gave in to the fatigue, dreaming of a strange men with white hair and heterochromia.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some feedback if you enjoyed this. If you feel like this should be made into a series I will oblige, just tell me and you shall receive. xxx


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